1 Oct 2022, 00:40
Beyond a shadow of doubt
Finnegan zoomed lazily around the quidditch field, letting the wind tousle his hair while he soaked up the last bursts of late summer light emblazoning the sky. Autumn had not yet become winter, but he sensed it coming. Soon there would be no warmth left in the delicate shades of late-afternoon gold and mellow orange cast upon the pitch.
Practice had ended well over ten minutes ago but he'd stayed up in the air under the guise of getting some extra exercise with an enchanted quaffle that returned to him after each throw. Out of all the amazing, magical things he'd seen, a ball that didn't need to be fetched was one of the more useful inventions, now that he was alone.
He'd felt strangely proud when he'd shown up to his very first training in the red, gold, and white of his all-new Quidditch uniform, though it had not stayed unblemished for very long. Now he wanted to stretch the moment, to hold on to the afterglow of pride and accomplishment he'd felt. Nothing he had attempted at Hogwarts had gone quite so well as this, not by a mile. It had left him aching all over yet content with what he had accomplished; he'd not made a fool of himself, maybe even impressed one or two of his teammates. Yet that was far from the only reason he lingered. Up here there was no charms homework to worry about, no Crying Colin to take care of, and his mind was free from thinking about June all the time. He let out a sigh of relief.
After a few more successful shots at the hoops (not much of a challenge without a keeper) he pitched down in a wide arc and landed smoothly on the ground. It would not remain light for very long and curfew would soon be in effect, though he still had ample time to get back to the Gryffindor tower.
With a yawn he sauntered his way back into the castle, leaving a faint trail of dirt and dead leaves behind him. It wasn't until he reached the third floor that he remembered with a start that he still had to pick up his schoolbag in the library. He'd been studying there when one of his teammates had reminded him of quidditch practice. Desperate not to be late to the training he had left his bag in the librarian's care and had promised to pick it back up.
The bag was nothing special, just an Eastpack like every one of his peers in muggle school had. Far more important was what he had stupidly left in it. Stuffed amid his books, quills and a bit of forgotten lunch were his drawings of June that even she didn't know he'd made. Oh god, if the librarian had seen those he'd die.
He quickened his pace, skipped a few steps down the stairs and rushed down the corridors toward the library. The castle had turned dark and he did not encounter anyone along the way except for some 19th-century portraits, one of which suggested that he ought to be whipped raw for making so much noise at this hour. A few others nodded in agreement but Finnegan paid them no mind.
At last he came skidding around the corner to the dark, ominous-looking library. Much to his surprise, the doors were still slightly ajar, casting a vale, eerie light into the blackness of the corridor. But no sooner than he'd slipped inside he heard footsteps approaching and while he held his breath on the other side of the doors, he failed to notice his own treacherous shadow being cast out on the stone floor.
Practice had ended well over ten minutes ago but he'd stayed up in the air under the guise of getting some extra exercise with an enchanted quaffle that returned to him after each throw. Out of all the amazing, magical things he'd seen, a ball that didn't need to be fetched was one of the more useful inventions, now that he was alone.
He'd felt strangely proud when he'd shown up to his very first training in the red, gold, and white of his all-new Quidditch uniform, though it had not stayed unblemished for very long. Now he wanted to stretch the moment, to hold on to the afterglow of pride and accomplishment he'd felt. Nothing he had attempted at Hogwarts had gone quite so well as this, not by a mile. It had left him aching all over yet content with what he had accomplished; he'd not made a fool of himself, maybe even impressed one or two of his teammates. Yet that was far from the only reason he lingered. Up here there was no charms homework to worry about, no Crying Colin to take care of, and his mind was free from thinking about June all the time. He let out a sigh of relief.
After a few more successful shots at the hoops (not much of a challenge without a keeper) he pitched down in a wide arc and landed smoothly on the ground. It would not remain light for very long and curfew would soon be in effect, though he still had ample time to get back to the Gryffindor tower.
With a yawn he sauntered his way back into the castle, leaving a faint trail of dirt and dead leaves behind him. It wasn't until he reached the third floor that he remembered with a start that he still had to pick up his schoolbag in the library. He'd been studying there when one of his teammates had reminded him of quidditch practice. Desperate not to be late to the training he had left his bag in the librarian's care and had promised to pick it back up.
The bag was nothing special, just an Eastpack like every one of his peers in muggle school had. Far more important was what he had stupidly left in it. Stuffed amid his books, quills and a bit of forgotten lunch were his drawings of June that even she didn't know he'd made. Oh god, if the librarian had seen those he'd die.
He quickened his pace, skipped a few steps down the stairs and rushed down the corridors toward the library. The castle had turned dark and he did not encounter anyone along the way except for some 19th-century portraits, one of which suggested that he ought to be whipped raw for making so much noise at this hour. A few others nodded in agreement but Finnegan paid them no mind.
At last he came skidding around the corner to the dark, ominous-looking library. Much to his surprise, the doors were still slightly ajar, casting a vale, eerie light into the blackness of the corridor. But no sooner than he'd slipped inside he heard footsteps approaching and while he held his breath on the other side of the doors, he failed to notice his own treacherous shadow being cast out on the stone floor.
"He's a dweeby chocolate bar lip smacking nerd" - Evelynn Decipio